Chapter Twenty-Three
THE GARDEN BEHIND THE WALL
Harry heard the faint whistling of the passing Bludger only seconds before it was
too late. He quickly pulled his Firebolt into a dive, and Fred Weasley whizzed over his head a second later. The Bludger had hurtled into the throng of Ravenclaw Chasers and caused them to scatter in three separate directions. Harry couldn't help but grin; the heavy iron ball might have been inches from taking his head off, but it had provided enough of a distraction to put the Quaffle back into a much-needed Gryffindor possession.
"Gryffindor still down, eighty to forty, but Weasley-Ron, to any of you still confused-is in possession of the Quaffle. Ravenclaw Chasers dispersed throughout the field, and Merlin only knows what the Beaters think they're doing, other than trying to take out Potter," Lee Jordan's running commentary could barely be heard over the loud cheers that had erupted from the Gryffindor stands. "Hufflepuff used the same tactic last weekend without any success. Then again, trying to take out Potter was the only tactic they put to any use-"
Harry's cringed, remembering the "tactic" in question. He hated to admit it because it made him sound cocky, but the Hufflepuff Seeker hadn't stood a chance against him. The Hufflepuff captain, a sixth year that he'd known by face but not name, seemed to have realized it, too, and had ordered the team's Beaters to focus their efforts entirely on him. He shifted on his broom, zipping down the field to follow the action. He could still feel many of the bruises, especially the particularly nasty one that stretched from the elbow of his right arm up to his shoulder. They'd still won that day, two hundred thirty to seventy.
Cho Chang flew by Harry, George Weasley on her tail. The Weasley twin gave his teammate a grin as he puffed after her, swinging his bat wildly until it connected with the second Bludger. Knowing it would most surely make contact, Harry turned quickly in the air, his eyes on the large hoops at the end of the field. Alicia had the Quaffle now, but she and Angelina were passing it furiously back and forth. Ron seemed to be trying to distract the Ravenclaw Keeper-Anna Clemens.
"For the first time this afternoon, it seems as if Clemens doesn't know what to do," reported Lee cheerfully. "Then again, it could be some kind of lingering feelings for the youngest Mr. Weasley, don't you think? The two used to-SCORE! FIFTY TO EIGHTY, GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry smiled, not only because they'd just scored a goal but also because a Bludger had just "happened" to whiz into scoring area and nearly took Anna off her broom. It wasn't anything personal, really. She'd just done rather well in blocking their shots throughout the match. He grinned widely as Ron rocketed behind the Ravenclaw Chaser in possession of the Quaffle and was surprised when greeted with Ron's undeniably worried expression.
Shaking it off, Harry shifted his attention away from the game play. Cho was zooming back toward him, obviously going to tail him once more. She looked a little worse than she had the last time he'd seen her; the Bludger he'd been so sure would hit her seemed to have made direct contact with her cheek. Her expression was more pained than pleased.
Harry's eyes began scanning the field for the Snitch once more. Twice before in the game he'd thought he'd seen it, but it had been the mere glitter of various Weasleys' wristwatches. He'd had the problem before, and he once again made a mental note to ask them kindly to take them off during their next game. He bit his lip, and then he saw it. There, glittering in the sunlight, well below the match's action, was the Snitch. It was classic, really. It always showed up when he least expected it.
"Weasley intercepts the Quaffle after a incomplete pass between Ravenclaw Chasers Grover and Gibson. Shame that the team found him only this year, eh? Passes to Spinnet-back to Weasley-Johnson-watch out, Angelina! Good thing she ducked, or she would have been creamed-Weasley has the Quaffle again... and unless if Potter's decided to plummet toward the ground for no reason, the Snitch has been sighted!"
As the wind hit his face sharply, Harry felt very fortunate to have his Firebolt. Cho had followed him in his dive almost immediately, but her Comet Two-Sixty simply wasn't competition. Unfortunately for Harry, the Ravenclaw Beaters were. The two of them were heading straight for him, clubs raised, and the Bludger that had nearly taken his head off earlier was back in hot pursuit. The distance between Harry and the Snitch was shortening. Ten feet... five... and he had it. He jabbed his arm in the air triumphantly just as something directly behind him thudded together with a sickening crunch. Everything happened very quickly after that.
Harry turned as quickly as he had dove. The rest of his team was speeding towards him with wide smiles on their faces, and a victorious roar had risen from the Gryffindor section of stands. However, the Ravenclaw Beaters had somehow crashed into each other, and Cho seemed to be caught up in the tangle of limbs rather hurtling toward the ground. He was so surprised by the sight that he didn't realize that one particular Bludger was still tearing towards him. Pain exploded in beneath his heavy glove, and the struggling little gold ball nearly got away from him.
Something seemed to have gone horribly wrong in the fifteen or so seconds it had taken Harry to sink slowly to the ground. Already, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors alike were rushing onto the field, all gathering around their respective Quidditch teams. No more than ten feet away from him, Cho was holding her hands over what looked like a broken nose, and the two Ravenclaw Beaters looked down for the count.
The rest of the Gryffindor team had also descended by now. Ron had doubled over in pain before he had even reached the ground, and Dean was cursing loudly. A paler-than-usual George seemed to be leaning on Alicia, and Fred's arm was draped across Angelina's shoulders. His eyes darted around the Quidditch pit; it looked like the ending to some horrible Muggle spoof movie about the sport. He could actually hear John Clemens in the background, worriedly asking his sister how many fingers he was holding up.
Harry transferred the struggling Snitch into his left hand and pulled his Quidditch glove from the injured one. It made a bit of a crunching noise that made his stomach lurch, already black in color. He walked a bit shakily toward Madam Hooch to return the Snitch.
"You okay there, Angie?" Fred was saying. He looked up when Harry walked by and gave him a hasty thumbs up. "Great catch, Potter! You all right? Overexcited Bludger seems to have got everyone else."
"Fine, Fred," said Harry. Madam Hooch was at Anna's side, and she had her wand out, pointing it threateningly at a Ravenclaw student that Harry assumed had gotten too close for her taste. She stood when she saw him, and she snatched the Snitch from him at once.
"Get back!" Madam Hooch yelled. She glanced around, her steely gaze settling on Harry. "You too, Potter. Run along for the moment."
Harry did as he was told-back to the locker rooms and straight up to the Gryffindor tower, or at least he would have done so if someone hadn't grabbed his arm and caught him. Hermione caught his eye seconds after noticing his injured hand.
"Hospital wing," she said, tugging on his arm and sounding very concerned.
* * *
Harry cringed in pain as Hermione gently pulled the fingers of his right hand apart. She was waving her wand furiously with her other hand, magicking up some proper bandages. She sighed when she caught his eye, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. They were in the Prefects bathroom, and she was patching up his Quidditch injuries.
"You really should have gone to Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione sternly as she began to wind the bandages around his hand, which was still rather swollen despite her use of healing charms. "This could still be broken, Harry. I'm not even supposed to know these charms, let alone use them."
Harry snorted indignantly. "Hermione," he reminded, "I just caused a eight player Quidditch pile-up. I doubt she's all too pleased with me."
"Pleased or not, she's the school nurse," said Hermione. Her hands stopped what they were doing as her eyes locked with Harry's once more. "She'd do a much better job than me."
"You did a great job," said Harry, and she had. The Bludger that had made contact with his hand directly after he caught the Snitch had most certainly broken several bones. The pain hadn't disappeared after the completion of the charm, but it was healed far beyond what most fifth years attempting the spell would hope for. Hermione had been insistent in following up with some standard Muggle care. "Even Lupin doesn't trust himself to mend broken bones, but you've managed to do it-what? Three times now? You're amazing, Hermione."
She blushed, busying her fingers with the bandages again. "I really would feel better if you-"
Harry leaned forward and kissed her cheek, shooting her a somewhat guilty lopsided grin. "It's good enough for me, `Mione, and it's my good hand-the one attached to my wand arm," he pointed out. "I'd go to Madam Pomfrey if I wasn't completely confident in your abilities."
Hermione didn't respond. She just tucked the bandage into place and touched Harry's bandaged hand gently. Studying him for a moment, she reached to the counter behind him and summoned a washcloth.
"If you say so," said Hermione, but she didn't sound convinced. Still, she seemed to have let it go. "I've always wanted to know how you manage to get so dirty during Quidditch games.
"What?" asked Harry, confused. He was lost somewhere in the rapid change of subject when he felt a wet cloth touch his cheek.
"There," said Hermione, withdrawing her hand and smiling apologetically. "You somehow managed to get a streak of dirt on your cheek, and it's been bothering me since I started patching you up."
"It's not like I forced you into it," said Harry indignantly. He moved his injured hand slightly. Pinpricks of pain shot through his arm, but he chose to ignore them.
Hermione took a step back, her hands on her hips. "Really Harry, what was I supposed to do? You were wincing in pain when you handed Madam Hooch the Snitch, and your hand was swollen and bruised black, yet you looked like you were about to make a break for the Gryffindor tower! Honestly!"
"Yeah, I was," said Harry, and he flinched ever so slightly under the look she gave him. "Hey! I had just set off the string of events that sent four of my teammates to the infirmary-including our best friend!"
"That's not true," Hermione insisted. "Everyone just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
For some reason, her logic caused Harry to burst out laughing. She smiled, too, and began to giggle.
"How did it happen anyway?" Hermione wanted to know. She had joined him on the marble step. Harry just shrugged.
"Well," said Harry honestly, "I really don't know. One minute I'd seen the Snitch, the next I was diving for it. The Ravenclaw Beaters tried to go after me but ran into each other instead, and Cho plowed into them. One of the Beaters did manage to hit the Bludger in my general direction, and it was the one that collided with my hand. Somehow it ricocheted into the direction of the approaching Gryffindors... You know, I'm not really sure what happened after that. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground again. Ron was-er, clutching himself in pain, Dean was making good use of every obscene word known, Alicia was laughing hysterically as an ashen-faced George leaned on her shoulder, and Fred kept asking Angelina if she could walk..."
"Oh dear," said Hermione, and Harry could see the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "That's about what I saw. Really, it looked like a scene from a very low grade Muggle movie."
"I think it might have been just that," said Harry dryly. His elbow dropped onto his knee, and he rested his chin in the palm of his uninjured hand.
"There, there," said Hermione, and she pressed her hand over her mouth as she patted his back. She seemed to be suppressing her giggles. "It's not nearly as bad as you think, and it wasn't your fault in the slightest."
Harry snorted. "Did I fail to mention the glare I got from Madam Hooch?"
"You're being over dramatic," said Hermione finally. She stood up, but Harry remained where he had been sitting the entire time. He was still in his Quidditch robes. "Now come on, go get yourself cleaned up. I went to your Quidditch game, and now I'd very much appreciate your help with Charms in return."
"Hermione," Harry reminded gently, "you have a hundred and three percent in that class. I'm the one that needs your help, not the other way around."
Hermione smiled sweetly at him. "I might not need your help, but I do enjoy your company. I'll be in the library."
Harry stood only when she had gone completely. He shook his head, but he was also smiling as he exited the prefect bathroom in the direction of the Quidditch locker rooms.
* * *
Fred and George were talking in muted tones when Harry pushed through the last of the doors leading into the Gryffindor Quidditch locker room. George was sitting down and still looked a little out of it, but Fred saw Harry immediately and motioned for him to come over.
"Where have you been?" Fred wanted to know. Harry had already taken a deep breath and had an apology on his tongue when he realized that the Weasley twin was grinning widely at him. He didn't seem angry, and Harry knew at once that he wasn't responsible for the little Quidditch catastrophe.
"Avoiding you," Harry joked, jabbing his wand messily at his locker with his left hand and muttering, "Alohomora."
"Some scene out there, eh?" said George with a bit of a grin. "That was a beautiful recovery of the Snitch, Harry. Shame we were all too distracted to express our thanks."
"What happened?" asked Harry. "One minute I had the Snitch, and the next, everyone was lumbering around like they'd been attacked."
"Nothing Dark, don't worry," said Fred immediately. He had picked up on Harry's worries at once. "Professor Lupin already checked it out. The enchantment had somehow gone haywire. Instead of dropping harmlessly to the ground when the Snitch was caught, it went on chasing players with even more gusto than before."
"But everyone's okay?"
Fred's hand clapped against Harry's shoulder heartily. "Well, close enough. Madam Pomfrey seemed a little concerned with Ron's future ability to carry on the family name, so I tried to explain that there were plenty of Weasleys already, but that only seemed to further her worries."
There was a moment of silence in which all three boys cringed for Ron's misfortune. Finally, Harry cleared his throat.
"Angelina? Dean? Both okay?" His attention shifted to George. "You?"
"Can't complain, can't complain," said George. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "All the Ravenclaws seemed to fair pretty well after Madam Pomfrey intervened. One of the Beaters was still out like a light when we left, but we figure it can't be too serious."
Fred shrugged. "We're guessing he's short a few brain cells now, but that's okay-he's a Ravenclaw, after all. He had more than he needed to begin with."
George chuckled. He caught Harry's eye and seemed to pick up on what Fred hadn't. "Don't worry, mate," he said, standing. He, too, clapped Harry's shoulder. "We were all in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing at fault but the Bludger."
"You sound like Hermione," muttered Harry, pulling out his school robes, which were now wrinkled from being shoved in the confined space. He glanced off in the distance, trying to recall which spell was used to charm away wrinkles.
"Tereus," said Fred, almost lazily, and Harry's robes fell smooth at once. Harry was about to thank him when the twins shared a sly grin. "Hermione, you say?"
"Seems to me, mate, that Harry disappeared with her right after match," said George, and the twins were gone practically before Harry could blink. He was shaking his head and muttering to himself the entire time it took him to change into his uniform.
Harry was still shrugging off the comment as he exited the locker area and doubled back toward the castle. It had him just distracted enough that he turned right into the wall. Surprisingly, there was no thud or the like as he collided with the stone. It seemed, rather, that he had passed right through the wall, just as one would pass through the barriers between platforms nine and ten or ten and eleven.
Confused, Harry took in his surroundings carefully. He took a step backwards, but, this time, the wall stopped him. He touched it, hesitantly, and it was, indeed, solid. His brow furrowed, and he looked down to his feet. He was standing on a cobblestone path that twisted and turned in every imaginable direction between... rows of flowerbeds? Harry squinted, wondering if perhaps his glasses were in someway damaged. Finally, he concluded that they weren't; the room really was filled with sunlight and plants of every imaginable variety. Perfect roses shot up on either side of where he was standing now, and he could hear the trickling of a gently stream in the distance. A great tree could be seen in the distance. He turned again, to the wall he had entered through, and he saw a little sign.
"Private Garden Four," read Harry out loud. Another plaque, smaller and beneath the first, identified these gardens as part of Professor Sprout's personal greenhouse. Funny. He hadn't even realized that such a thing existed. Harry stepped forward on the path, at a loss for how to get out of the gardens.
It was then that he heard the laughter. Curious, he took a few more steps down the path, careful to be quite. Harry was dimly aware of the fact that he wasn't supposed to be there and that it could easily be some of the teachers enjoying the garden. He couldn't have been more surprised when he realized who it really was.
Ron and Anna were sitting together at the base of the tree. Harry felt guilty at once, but he shrunk back, taking care to be quiet so that they wouldn't see him. Ron's hand was at Anna's temple.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ron was saying. Anna's face scrunched up, and she pushed his hand away gently.
"I'm fine, Ron," said Anna impatiently. She leaned forward and kissed him chastely on the lips. "Really, I'm the one that should be asking that of you."
Ron's face bypassed the color of his hair in mere seconds, which caused Anna to giggle. "Er-I'm fine?"
"Of course," teased Anna. She smiled brightly then, reaching a hand up to touch Ron's cheek. "I never told you how amazing you were today, Weasley."
"I didn't play that well," said Ron modestly, suddenly very interested in his hands, which he were wringing together in his lap. Still, when he looked up, he was grinning slightly. "You aren't bad competition, though, Clemens. I was getting rather frustrated with your skill. I really just wanted to score."
"Taken out of context, that wouldn't be very appropriate," said Anna. She was grinning mischievously.
"Anna Clemens!" said Ron mockingly. "Who on earth taught you to think like that?"
"You did," said Anna affectionately. "I'm just joking with you, Ron. I just can't believe the things you tried to distract me! Have you no consideration for the fact that I am your girlfriend?"
"Hey, it was your idea to make that agreement," said Ron defensively. "`No emotional attachment during Quidditch,' wasn't it?"
Anna sighed. "During Quidditch," she said finally. She looked up at him, her eyes almost sad. She continued quietly. "Now it's almost always."
"Hey," said Ron quickly. He caught her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. "It's not always, so don't go getting all sad on me. It's not now."
Anna sniffled, but only slightly. When she looked up again, her eyes had cleared of their earlier pain. They were filled with an almost numbing calm. "I think John might know."
Ron looked alarm. "He did-" he stopped. He looked very tense. "He did glare at me today. You were... well, you were still out of it... but I asked him, totally casually, I promise, if everything was okay."
"I don't get it," said Anna apologetically. "I just don't get what he doesn't like about you."
"Must be something," said Ron. He pulled Anna toward him, draping an arm around her. He looked a little distracted. "He did, after all, convince your parents that I'm some sort of horrible person that should be taken out in the backyard and hexed within an inch of his life."
"Oh, Ron," sighed Anna. He was still looking absently into the distance when he dropped a quick kiss onto the top of her head. "I don't understand it any more than you do. You have to believe me when I say that I'm trying to convince them otherwise."
"I do," said Ron.
"Maybe-" Anna stopped and shook her head, shrugging away from him. She reached behind her, dragging her book bag forward. She had obviously been using it as a backrest. "Now, I'm supposed to be helping you with Charms today, aren't I?"
Ron cringed. "You don't have to say it," he grumbled. "Not aloud at least. You have no idea how embarrassing it is for me to have to ask you for help."
"It's not at all embarrassing!" insisted Anna. She reached over and flipped to a certain page in his book, which he'd opened on his lap. "What's embarrassing about it?"
"I'm a fifth year, and you're a fourth year, yet it's me begging you for help with my homework," said Ron. He did not look pleased, even when Anna kissed him sweetly and smiled.
"You practice dueling with me later, and we'll call it even," said Anna at last. "Now, if I'm reading this correctly-and it's awfully hard to do at this angle, I might add... thank you-then the main... you're not listening to me, are you, Ron Weasley?"
"I'm not," admitted Ron, but he didn't sound at all guilty. He gave her a sad, puppy-eyed frown. "Do we have to work on it now?"
"Ron, if you-"
Anna was cut off when he kissed her. Harry felt himself turning away very quickly, literally scampering back in the direction he'd came in. He felt more than guilty listening in on their conversation, but he wasn't about the stoop any lower by observing one of their private moments. Besides, Harry really had no desire to see his best friend snogging his girlfriend.
Anna. Ron's girlfriend. Harry suddenly remembered that the two were very much broken up-or so he thought. The scene he had just witnessed seemed to be completely and totally contradictory to what he knew was true. He was confused, and he wanted some answers. As guilty as he felt about eavesdropping, Harry wanted nothing more than a way out of the garden so he could find Hermione and get her take on the entire situation.
* * *
Despite his initial resolve to take what he'd seen in Professor Sprout's private garden straight to Hermione, Harry had finally made it to the library and slipped into the seat next to her without so much as a word about Ron and Anna. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to find his way out of Private Garden Four; he finally realized, in a gesture of frustration, that hitting the plaque opened the stonewall to Hogwarts's grounds. Sometime in the time it took him to get from the grounds to the library, Harry had decided to talk to Ron before saying anything to Hermione.
Sitting next to her until dinner, adding furious inches to his Defense essay, it had been difficult to keep the discovery to himself. Harry had barely been about to concentrate on the known ways of removing a Dark scar with the knowledge hanging around his head, and the continuing pain in his hand had made it very difficult to keep up any kind of pace when writing it down. He stopped working for a few moments on several occasions, finally realizing he'd been staring off in the distance. Fortunately, Hermione was so absorbed in her own work that she continued paging through her thick stack of books without noticing Harry's inactivity.
Ron had shown up ten minutes into dinner, a grin on his face and his book bag swinging rather precariously from his shoulder. Harry had found it difficult to make conversation once he'd joined them and had quickly busied himself with his pork chops. After dinner, there had been a rather boring prefects' meeting about a new rule that applied to uniforms, reminding Harry and Ron why the never bothered to go. Fred and George had caught the boys on the way out and yanked them to the Quidditch locker rooms for a quick post-game meeting relating to team injuries. They'd stolen Ron away directly afterwards because they were in need of a test subject for their newest invention.
Now, as Harry climbed the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories, clutching his injured hand, he could only hope that the twins would return his friend in one piece. He rubbed his hand absently after pushing the door to his and Ron's dormitory open. The pain had subsided as the evening wore on, but the pinpricks that remained were enough of a discomfort. He dropped his heavy stack of books on his desk, and, it being a nice evening, he opened the dorm room's window to let in some fresh air.
Harry figured he would devote a little more time to his essay, but he had no sooner sat down to work than the door swung open and Ron burst in. The redhead looked slightly out of breath, and his face had gone very blotchy. Undoing the clasp on his cloak and leaving it where it fell on the floor, Ron caught Harry's eye.
"I'm apparently allergic to something in Fred and George's latest invention," Ron explained. "Diminishing Dishrags. They're supposed to reduce the size of anything that they-"
"I saw you with Anna today," blurted Harry.
For the briefer part of a second, Ron's eyes clouded with what was unmistakably anxiety. He quickly drew calmness into them, but he didn't do it fast enough. "What are you talking about, mate? Quidditch? I don't need reminding how many of my shots she managed to block. Anyway, about the Diminishing Dishrags-"
"No, not during Quidditch," said Harry impatiently. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "In Professor Sprout's private garden."
Ron paled. "Y-y-you must be mistaken," he stammered. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do," countered Harry. He, too, looked down and away. "Look, I wasn't following you or trying to spy or anything. I just happened to run into the wall-and pass through it. You and Anna were sitting together under a tree."
Ron was silent, and he pushed back the hangings on his bed so he could sit down and talk to Harry. His head dropped into his hand, and he finally sighed. Taking a deep breath, he said, "That fight we got in wasn't totally real. We never really broke up."
Harry couldn't help but let loose a little snort of laughter. "That," he said dryly, "was rather obvious. Do you want to explain to me how that fight wasn't real?"
"Sure thing," said Ron, reaching a hand up to rub at one of the blotchy spots on his face. "The day she blew up at me in front of her entire house, I hadn't the faintest idea why. I was confused because I thought that everything was going great, and she fed me some kind of crazy line about how things just didn't work between the two of us. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later, after Easter holiday, when she came to me in tears, that I got the real reason."
"What was?" Harry wanted to know. He was listening with rapt attention, leaning forward in his chair.
Another deep breathe. "Her brother, John. He'd fed their parents and other siblings a story about what an awful guy I am. Sure, I know I'm not half as smart as any of them, and I know I'm not the greatest wizard, but I don't think I've ever thought of myself as awful." Ron's hand dropped from his face. "That's why she did it. Her father threatened to pull her out of Hogwarts if she kept seeing me. She set the fight up in front of everyone, including John, so it would be convincing, but she couldn't go through with it, I guess."
"So the two of you have been carrying on in secret?" said Harry, finishing the story for his friend. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"
"I didn't tell anybody!" exclaimed Ron defensively. He folded his arms across his chest. "I really couldn't. I don't want Anna pulled from Hogwarts, and she doesn't want to be home schooled."
"Of course not," agreed Harry. "Still, I could have sworn Anna kept stressing how nice John was when you were about to meet him."
Ron's face darkened. "I thought he was nice," he sputtered, "but apparently not. Anna says he's changed, but I don't know what to make of it. He might be protective of his little sister, but I'm protective of Ginny, and I wouldn't do that to her."
"Even if she was dating... oh, say Flint? Moon? How about Marks?" Harry interjected, a smirk playing on his face.
"That's completely different," insisted Ron, scowling. "They'd be threats to her safety-bloody hell, they're threats to anyone's safety-and I would never do anything that would hurt Anna. You know that. If it's just brotherly love, John Clemens is taking it too far."
"When did he convince their parents you're awful?" asked Harry.
"Right after they found all the missing students, he went home to see them for a weekend. It was just after he came back that he started talking against me," said Ron. He exhaled slowly, clapping his hands together suddenly. "No use dwelling on it, I guess."
"No use dwelling on it," Harry echoed. He was eyeing his friend more critically than perhaps he should have. A moment of silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, passed between the friends. It took that moment for Harry to realize just how much Ron cared for the girl. "How did you find out about the garden?"
The question caused a grin to break out on Ron's face. He reached into his back pocket, thrusting the Marauder's map into Harry's hand.
"It still hasn't gotten nearly enough use this year, you know," said Ron. "I can't believe we didn't see it before."
Harry eyed the piece of tattered parchment critically for a moment before tapping it with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," said Harry. In its looping green scroll, the map proclaimed its usual message before showing the whole of Hogwarts. Harry looked at it, unable to detect where the secret gardens were located.
"Tap it once more, and say `complete,'" directed Ron. Harry did as he was told, and thin black lines added to the green. Four additional areas were now on the map. Ron continued. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it before, mate. It's been mine and Anna's spot for a long time now, and I didn't want to risk being found."
"Why do you think these lines are black, not green?" said Harry, more to himself than Ron.
The redhead shrugged. "I'm guessing that the Marauders added them later. There's another passage into Hogsmeade from the dungeons... you're not mad at me, are you?"
"No," said Harry, and he wasn't.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and another smile formed on his blotchy face. "One of these days, we're going to have to ask Sirius or Lupin whose initials are C. L."
"`C. L.?'" Harry looked at his friend quizzically.
"Yep," said Ron, and he shrugged, grinning mischievously. "There's a heart carved into that tree Anna and I were sitting under. R. L. and C. L., written inside of it."
Harry sniggered, making a move for the trunk at the end of his bed. "He's got some blonde girl on his arms in half of those pictures Sirius put together for me."
Ron opened his mouth to say something more, his hand on his blotchy skin once more, but a faint pop and a plume of smoke drowned out his words. When the smoke cleared, Ron's head had been reduced to the size of an orange. His tiny face was contoured in absolute rage.
"Fred! George!" said Ron. The words, which he obviously meant to bellow, came out as a squeak.
Harry burst out laughing.
* * *
By the time Ron straggled into the library on Sunday morning, Harry had more than informed Hermione of everything that had gone on the night before, from Anna to the garden to Ron's shrunken head. It was after eleven, but Ron had been up late the night before, waiting for his head to return to its normal size. Hermione and Harry exchanged a wicked grin just as Ron settled into one of the table's chairs.
"Good morning, Ron," said Hermione sweetly. "We missed you at breakfast."
"Uh-huh," said Ron. He was bent over, struggling to pull several thick books out of his bag. Hermione gave him a long look when he straightened up.
"Ron," she deadpanned, "is there something the matter with your ear? It's rather... misplaced looking."
It wasn't, of course, and Ron caught her bluff when she and Harry, unable to contain themselves, were nearly reduced to tears in their laughter. The tip of his ears, both very much normal in shape, size, and placement, turned bright red, and he pretended to be looking very intently at a passage in one of the texts, "The Brooms That Chased the Muggle Milkman."
"Very funny," he muttered, once Madam Pomfrey had stopped glaring at the three of them. It had been necessary for Hermione to nudge Harry rather painfully in the side to get him to stop his guffaws just in time. He, too, pretended to be very fascinated by something in his studies. It was less difficult and painful to grasp his quill today, something for which Harry was very thankful.
"Don't worry, Ron," said Hermione cheerfully but quietly. "Your ears are very much in their correct position."
"He told you," said Ron. It was a question presented as a statement, and Hermione nodded. Ron didn't say anything; he just stared despondently at his nearly blank scroll. Finally, he sighed heavily. "This is due at the end of the week."
"Yes, it is," said Harry, racking his brain for another word for established. He'd used it four times in one paragraph and figured it was about time to find some alternatives.
Ron's head dropped to the desk. "I'm doomed," he moaned. Hermione, who had just stood up, walked around the table and patted her shoulder.
"You'll get it done," she said gently, "but you really should have started it ages ago, like Harry and I did. If you'll excuse me, I need to get another stack of resources from Madam Pince."
"I need to get a thesaurus," grumbled Harry, and he stood up and followed her. Gathering the information had been a breeze; writing it in intelligible paragraphs was a different story.
"What word?" asked Hermione. She was holding a stack of twelve books, and her arms were already quivering. Wordlessly, ignoring the tinge in his wrist, Harry took the top half of the stack from her.
"Established," said Harry.
Hermione blinked. "Established? Fixed. Founded. Began. Does that help?"
"Yes," said Harry, committing them to memory as he slipped his stack of her books onto the librarian's desk. Seeing the two of them, Madam Pince hurried over from the shelf she was searching. "Thanks."
"No," said Hermione, smiling up at him. "Thank you."
"Miss Granger," said Madam Pince. She sounded rather pleasant, more so than she ever had been before. "I would presume that you are wishing for the last set of books that mention the Affinity of Relations?"
"Yes, please," said Hermione. The librarian ducked out of sight as Harry turned around, only to smack solidly into something.
"Mr. Potter," drawled a familiar voice, "I would advise that you open those eyes of yours every once in awhile and use the vision that you do have. Five points from Gryffindor!"
Hermione smiled at him sympathetically, but Harry's eyes flashed angrily as he stepped away from Snape. The Potions master practically pushed him aside anyway, just as Madam Pince was placing another stack of worn books into Hermione's arms.
"Irma," said Snape impatiently, "I have an immediate need to consult a book by the name of Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvests. It's by Sueuorum, Halae Sueuo-"
"I am very much aware of the book's author, Severus," said Madam Pince irritably. Harry couldn't help but smile, knowing she was just as short-tempered with teachers as students. "I am also occupied with another's request. I will be with you in a moment if you will step aside, although it will not be necessary. We only have one copy of such book, and Miss Granger is about to check it out."
Snape did not step aside. "I am in need of that book. At once."
"I am sorry, Professor, a library does not function on needs or wants," said Madam Pince, her eyes flashing. She was looking more and more like a vulture with each passing moment. "It is a place of order and a place of system. You may put your name down on a waiting list for the book if you would-"
"I would like to check out that book!" burst Snape. He looked very angry, glaring first at the librarian and then at Hermione. Madam Pince glared back, but Hermione, her hand trembling, quickly pulled the book from the top of the stack and shoved it in his direction.
"I'll have enough information for my essay without it," said Hermione quickly. He snatched it out of her hands, turned, and parted as quickly as he had entered. Madam Pince looked absolutely scandalized; he had not even checked the book out.
"I'll have him for this one," she muttered as she wrote the due date into each of Hermione's books. Harry waited a few feet behind her, a very curious expression on his face.
"You keep those books to yourself," said Madam Pince as they turned in the direction of the table where Ron was sitting. "They're for your eyes only, Miss Granger. Due back at the end of the week, and don't you forget it!"
They slid back into their original seats, sharing equally confused looks. Ron, too, was looking at them with interest. "What was all that about?"
Neither Harry nor Hermione had an answer for him.
* * *
That night, Harry was tossed into a very restless sleep. He woke often, making it a sharp contrast to the night before when he had slept straight through to Sunday morning. His thoughts wandered from Snape to Quidditch, from Hermione to his Defense essay, from O.W.L.s to the Marauder's map. Each time he would wake, he'd peek at his bedside clock, which told him just how many hours he had to go to morning. Finally, just after three, he fell into a very fitful sleep in which he dreamt a very strange, very disturbing dream.
The street he was on was a Muggle one, and it fit somewhere between the striking conformity of Privet Drive and the comfort of Withenham Lane. Harry had never been there before, but he seemed oddly comfortable with the place-until night descended. It was a black, almost cruel evening; no stars were in the sky, no animals could be heard in the distance, and not a single Muggle was on the street. It was then that they came.
Robed and hooded figures, all masked, were appearing out of nowhere on the street. They assembled and began moving together as one sinister whole. Their wands were taken out from pockets and behind garments. They lifted them together; the subsequent words created a deadly harmony of curses. As fires began to consume homes, frightened Muggle families began pouring out onto the street. They were no sooner out their front doors than attacked with different curses, most of which were unforgivable.
One of the figures walked with a cane, but he did not seem to rely on it for balance. As one family raced from a blazing house, he caught a little girl in his range of fire. She looked to be no more than five or six and had curly dark hair. She was wearing only a thin nightgown and clutching a well-loved teddy bear. The wizard levitated her high above the roofline of the house, and she shrieked in fear as she was flipped every which way at his will. A man and a woman, obviously her parents, were watching, horrified, from the lawn.
"Jessica!" cried the man desperately. The words tumbled out of his mouth, and a second curse, from another wand, hit him a second later. He dropped to the ground, his limbs twitching madly. His wife rushed to his side, but she was stunned at once. With a horrible yelp, the little girl plummeted back toward the earth. Her scream was mingled with the sound of yet another curse. Cries of shock and horror and pain could be heard from every direction, but Harry could hear this spell above the rest.
"Avada Kedavra!" said the wizard, and the man stopped twitching. The green light was blinding, and he lie still on the grass. The wizard-the Death Eater-began to laugh, and he directed his wand to the sky. "MORSMORDE!"
The Dark Mark appeared in the sky the second after the incantation was given. Faint pops could be heard as Death Eaters Disapprated from the street. Another series of cracks came, and more wizards appeared in the street. One last time, the killing curse rang out, and one of them fell as the last Death Eater disappeared into the night.
The Aurors had arrived, both too soon and too late.
"HARRY!"
Harry was on a Muggle street no longer. He was still in his bed in the Gryffindor Tower, and Ron was standing over him, deathly pale. When he went to reach for his glasses, he moved his arm down, not up. He had been clutching his scar.
"Harry?" Ron's face came into focus. His hand was on Harry's shoulder; he'd obviously been shaking his friend to try and wake him up. "You were shouting, and then you started... I don't know what you were doing, but you kept muttering something about not hurting Jessica..."
"I-I-I-" Harry stammered. His tongue was thick in his mouth, and he couldn't say anything. Ron released his death grip on Harry's shoulder.
"I'm going to get McGonagall," said Ron.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron, both clad in only their pajamas, stood in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Professor McGonagall was standing just behind them, her mouth set in a grim line. Harry was still having trouble forming intelligible sentences.
"Canary Cream," said McGonagall, and they entered Dumbledore's office. One of her aged hands was gripping Harry's shoulder just as tightly as Ron had been earlier. She steered him into the circular room; Ron had to shorten his stride to keep from stepping over their Head of House. "Headmaster?"
"-Very well, Sagesse," Dumbledore was saying. He was pacing in front of his fireplace, his long fingers stroking his long beard. With a slight pop, something disappeared from the fire and the flames extinguished.
"Headmaster?"
"Minerva," said Dumbledore. He looked up, catching sight of Harry and Ron. The surprise disappeared from his face at once; he seemed to have been expecting them. "Harry... Ron. Have a seat, all of you. Harry?"
It was different being in Dumbledore's office than it had been being in their dorm room. Harry's mouth opened, and words came out this time. His voice shaking, he was able to reveal every horrible detail of his dreams. As he got to the part about the Muggle family, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes showed the formation of the smallest teardrop. Ron had averted his eyes as Harry reached the conclusion, and McGonagall appeared to be in shock.
"And... and that's all," said Harry feebly, finishing retelling his dream. "That's when Ron woke me up at least."
"Harry," said Dumbledore softly, "I am truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there was a Death Eater attack on a Muggle town not more than an hour ago. Thirteen Muggles and an Auror were killed; another fifteen were injured."
Minerva gasped, and Ron stopped fidgeting. Harry just slumped back in his seat. He'd been unable to say what he had seen, but that didn't mean he had been unable to think about it. He'd been praying that his dream was an indicator of what was to come. Had it been, and then perhaps the tragedy could have been diverted.
"Minerva... please fetch me Professor Sprout," said Dumbledore, "and Professor Lupin also. There has been... just get them if you will."
She nodded, and she disappeared from the room seconds later. Ron was gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his hands had lost all color. Harry just sat, feeling an overwhelming sense of defeat.
"Boys," said Dumbledore gently. "Harry. There is no blame for what happened, no blame beyond the Death Eaters involved with this brutal attack. It is my regret that you were forced to experience such a strike, and it is my displeasure to remind you that this is the beginning, not the end."
He continued, but Harry's mind had traveled from the room and back to the Muggle street. For the third time that night, someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore smiled wanly down at him. Already, his already ancient face had aged many years.
"Professor," Harry found himself saying. "Was this like the Death Eater raids of fourteen years ago?"
"Yes, it is," said Dumbledore. A full minute of silence passed before he responded. "It was exactly as any raid in the past. Now... now, if you will, boys, I would like to take you down to the hospital wing and get a Dreamless Sleep Potion for Harry."
The kindly headmaster released Harry's shoulder, taking a good look at Ron also. "Make that Dreamless Sleep Potion for both of you," he said grimly.
* * *
"...I think he does. How can you not see it?"
Harry's eyes struggled open at the faint murmuring of voices. He was more than a bit groggy, and the sunlight streaming through the large window on the opposite side of his and Ron's dormitory practically blinded him. Squinting, he pulled himself into a sitting position. The whispering stopped when he reached for his glasses, and Harry felt a warm hand brush against his as they were dropped onto his open palm. Ron was standing several paces away, tucking his tie beneath the sweater of the school uniform, and Hermione was sitting on a desk chair at the edge of Harry's bed. Her Arithmancy book was open on her lap.
"Good morning, Harry," said Hermione, her cheeks flushing every so slightly.
"Morning," said Harry, still looking at Hermione. His brow furrowed. "You're not supposed to-"
"McGonagall sent her up nearly an hour ago, mate," said Ron with a bit of a grin. It looked almost guilty in origin. "Don't tell me you thought Hermione was breaking a rule."
"Oh, hush you," said Hermione. She looked at Harry, her brown eyes filled with concern. "McGonagall told me what was going on during Transfigurations. I had spent all of Arithmancy and Herbology wondering what had become of you two!"
"She just had to wake me up," grumbled Ron, running a hand through his hair, which looked damp. "But, of course, she never even considered disturbing you."
Hermione glared at him for a second, then looked back to Harry. Her warm brown eyes were filled with obvious concern. "You would still be on about that," said Hermione, shooting Ron another disapproving glance. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," said Harry at once, shrugging. Hermione didn't look convinced, and he knew, after catching Ron's eye, that she'd been told everything already. "Really, it was nothing."
Hermione didn't buy it. She was looking at him skeptically, and she made a sort of clucking sound with her tongue. This time, he was on the receiving end of one of her disapproving looks. Harry glanced between his two best friends, both of which were similar looks of sympathy and worry and knowing. He found himself looking down and away, balling a corner of his bed sheets into his fist. They hadn't deserved to be pulled into this.
"Harry?"
Harry finally looked up. Hermione was leaning forward in his chair, her hand resting on his shoulder. She smiled at him rather timidly.
"That's really not the way to convince me," said Hermione nervously. She gestured to the sheet being wrung in Harry's hands. Without realizing he was doing so, he'd started picking at the thread, which had begun to unravel.
"Oh, sorry," said Harry, letting the sheet drop. He was doing his best not to look either Ron or Hermione in the eye, figuring they were probably sharing looks pertaining to how he'd really lost it this time. He was vaguely aware that his hours of dreamless sleep had done nothing to ease the throbbing pain in his scar. His hand moved to his forehead as he pushed back his bedcovers and swung his legs over the edge. "If you were in Professor McGonagall's class an hour ago, then it must be lunchtime. I'm going to go get dressed. I really need the class time that Professor Lupin is giving us today to work on our essays."
Harry could practically feel their stares as he headed out of the room and down the stairs to the bathroom, his uniform folded up in his arms. When he reached his destination, he tossed his robes down, striding across the circular room to one of the sinks.
There were twelve of them total, all spaced evenly around the interior wall of the room. Alternating in the wall space between the sinks were racks for clothing and tables upon which sat magically refilling pitchers of drinking water. Twelve showers were arranged in a pod like circle in the middle of the room, each protected with several unbreakable privacy charms. One could take the stairs on the opposite side of the room down a level to use the toilet.
Clutching the edge of the porcelain sink with one hand, Harry used the other to push his hair back from his forehead. In its own way, his scar looked darker and more threatening than ever.
Sighing, Harry shut his eyes as he began unbuttoning his pajama shirt. There were times when he really hated that oh-so-permanent reminder of his connection with the Dark Lord. He couldn't even imagine how rich he'd be if he'd had a Knut for every time he'd wished he were just another teenage wizard instead of famous Harry Potter.
Harry was not taking his vision of the night before very well, if his actions toward his friends that morning had been any indication. He stepped into one of the showers, twiddling with both water knobs until making a conscious decision that a cold shower would probably do him some good in regaining his wits. As much as he wanted to forget about it all, one single scene began repeating in his mind. Again and again, little Jessica hurtled towards the ground just as her father was struck down with the Killing Curse.
The night before, as Dumbledore had led him and Ron to the hospital wing to get some Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry had somehow convinced himself that this would be the first and last Death Eater attack. The guilty feeling had come to pass, but he had been wrong in assuming that it would stay that way. It had, for the first few minutes after he'd woken up that morning, but now the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling of responsibility had returned.
Seeing Hermione had done it for him. For some reason he'd been able to look at all that had happened this year with somewhat of an objective curiosity. Sure, he and Ron and Hermione had done their share of sneaking around and wondering and researching, but it hadn't been like years past. The problem wasn't looking directly at them, blaringly obvious, with all the clues they could want or need right in front of their noses.
Their troubles with Voldemort had left Hogwarts; he had moved on to bigger things and seemed to be using the whole of Europe as his playing field. From Beauxbatons to Durmstrang, from Azkaban to Grand Harmony, the Dark wizard had begun his next great wave of destruction. Soon, little Jessica's piercing scream was replaced with Dumbledore's ancient wisdom.
"It has begun again, Harry," the headmaster had said, "you surely know that. Voldemort began his first reign, twenty-six years ago, in the same manner. Dark times have fallen, times that will grow darker with each passing day. I daresay that we are in for a long struggle before we can hope to see the Light."
The focus of Harry's thoughts changed again, and he remembered a time many years before. He and Hagrid were sitting a leaky old cabin on a stormy night, the Dursleys cowering in the background as the half giant explained the truth of his parents' deaths and the horrors Voldemort had subjected the wizarding world to. Somehow a single glance at one of his best friends had given him a greater understanding of the fear the gripped his fellow witches and wizards for more than a decade. Suddenly, he, too, was afraid for his life, for the lives of those he cared about, and for the lives of those he didn't know at all.
Shoving his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose, Harry gathered his crumpled pajamas. He gave his reflection a look that bordered on disgust.
"And what has you in such a foul mood?" asked the mirror. Harry just shook his head.
And to think he'd once wondered why some people had thought him mental in the past.
* * *
Several deep breaths had helped calm Harry as he had walked up the stairs from the bathroom to his and Ron's dormitory. When he'd pushed the door open, he'd been surprised to see that Ron was nowhere in sight. Hermione, on the other hand, was still sitting in his desk chair, her book open on her lap. However, she wasn't reading. Instead, her elbows were resting against the well-read pages, and her cheek rested against one of her palms. She'd been staring at the door, and it was obvious that she'd been waiting for his return.
"Hey," said Harry, dropping his rumpled pajamas into the basket near the front of the room. The bottom opened, and the dirty clothing was magically whisked away. In a few hours, the house-elves would return the garments, freshly laundered. He dropped down to his bed, sitting so that their knees were practically touching. Harry started to reach for her hand but thought better of it. "About earlier-I'm sorry I was so edgy. I really can't tell you what was going through my mind."
"Oh Harry," said Hermione, and she did something that surprised him. She reached up and touched his cheek. "I understand. Well, actually, I take that back. I don't know what you're going through, and it would only make things worse if I pretended to. I know that yet another burden has been placed on you. I wish it could be some other way, but it can't, so I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you if you need anything."
"I don't," said Harry fiercely. He made a mental refusal of doing any such thing. He wasn't about to put any more pressure on Hermione; she already had more than enough on her plate. "No, `Mione, I'm not going to-"
"Oh, you've spent entirely too much time with Ron," said Hermione, interrupting. "Let me finish what I was saying, and then you can talk. Every time I've needed something this year, Harry, you were there. Most of the time I wasn't even aware of needing someone, but you always seemed to know when I needed a shoulder to cry, and you were always there. Always. So, before you decide that you can't go to me if you're having a hard time, just consider that it might do us both some good if it were a mutual thing. I know I need you Harry, and I-"
"And I need you," blurted Harry. He felt as if his cheeks were on fire, and he had to look away. "Where did Ron go?"
"He's getting food," said Hermione. "We've nearly missed lunch, you know. He was going to track down Dobby and see if the house-elves would be so kind as to whip us up a platter of sandwiches."
"And you'll allow that extra taxing of their service?" teased Harry. Hermione smiled.
"Over half of them are receiving wages now, didn't you know?" she said. "And to think, you and Ron though that the S. P. E. W. campaign was a complete and total waste of time!"
"That's not true!" protested Harry, glad for the shift of topic to something more lighthearted. He knew that it wouldn't last, but it was refreshing all the same. "I kept my mouth shut and went along with it. It was Ron who always exercised his opinions."
"Of course, how could I forget?" said Hermione. She shifted, smoothing her skirt.
"Last night," said Harry dully. "You want me to talk about it, don't you?"
Much to his surprise, Hermione shook her head. She leaned forward, kissing his cheek lightly. "You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, but I'm here to listen if you do."
Grasping her hand, Harry found himself spilling out each and every horrible detail about the horrible vision. She had heard it before, assumingly from Ron or McGonagall, but she listened just as intently as if she were being told for the very first time. When he finished, she touched his face gently again, her eyes locking with his.
"Harry," she said quietly, "there's something that I think you should know. I debated telling you about this because I wasn't sure how you would react, but I think you deserve to hear it now instead of later."
"Yes?" said Harry, and he felt his stomach knot up. He didn't have a clue what she was going to say. For all he knew, she could have been preparing to tell him just about anything. He hated the look in her eyes. She looked sad, and she looked concerned. He wished that there were a way for him to eliminate both expressions. Harry hated to see her sad, and he was still of the belief that she didn't need any extra worries at the moments, and he wished he hadn't been so forthcoming with his experience.
"The front page of the Daily Prophet was splashed with news of the attack on Grand Harmony," said Hermione softly, "so I'd read all about it at breakfast. It was upsetting, but I was more worried about the fact that you and Ron were both seemingly missing in action. Arithmancy passed quickly, and nothing seemed too far from normal, but that changed in Herbology. Justin Finch-Fletch rushed in a good half an hour late, his eyes red and his face streaked with tears. Professor Sprout kept looking at him sympathetically.
"She sent him to work with me, and I finally couldn't take it any longer. I asked him if something was wrong... oh Harry..." Harry half expected her to fling her arms around him, but she did no such thing. Somehow, she pulled herself back into a quiet composure. "He's from Grand Harmony, Harry. His father was one of the Muggles killed, and his little sister Jessica was injured. I-I think that you were seeing his family last night."
Harry felt a sensation in his stomach only rivaled by the few unfortunate experiences he'd had with falling off his broom during Quidditch matches. It felt as if someone had hit him unexpectedly with a rather painful curse, and he wasn't sure what to say or do. He accepted a glass of water that Hermione had magicked up, taking several drinks of it. Still, he couldn't really manage words. "Oh."
"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione. She looked close to tears herself, and he wasn't sure if it was for Justin's loss or his own misfortune in witnessing it. She reached out to him, but Harry, surprisingly, found himself scooting away.
"No," Harry found himself saying. "Maybe-maybe you should go on, Hermione. You shouldn't want to be around me. Trouble and destruction follow me with whatever I do, and I don't want you in the way of that."
"Honestly Harry, don't you think that you're being a bit-"
"Hermione," said Harry. He practically croaked out her name. "Don't you get it? All of this is my fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for the Triwizard Tournament last year. I was so stupid and so blind that I led Cedric right to his death and put the whole wizarding world in danger. The tasks were too much for me, but I just kept going. I don't even know what I was trying to prove. If I'd just given up... then now... well, now would be a lot different."
There. He'd said it. In a way, he felt like a great weight had been lifted from his chest. Ever since that fateful June evening just short of a year before, Harry had harbored the thought. Try as he might, he'd never stopped feeling responsible for Cedric's death, but he'd never allowed him too much time for thinking about it. Cedric's death hadn't been the only consequence of his actions. There had been fourteen more the night before, let alone all those that went with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. He looked up, expecting to see Hermione easing away from him. Instead, if he hadn't known better, he'd say she looked ready to slap him.
"Honestly Harry, you're lucky that I feel the way about you that I do. Don't you think that Crouch would have come up with another way to deliver you to Voldemort? If you had talked Cedric into taking the cup, what's to say that Crouch wouldn't have sneaked up here to transfigure your pillow into a Portkey?" Hermione was looking at him just as intently as before. Suddenly, she blinked and paled. Her hands flew to her face. "Oh my," she whimpered, "I can't believe I just started chiding you at a time like this... oh Harry... I never meant to-"
"Hey," said Harry, a bit of a grin forming on his face as her hand found his and their fingers laced together. "I needed that. Thank you."
"What?" Hermione's brow furrowed.
"I needed that," said Harry, and he felt himself drawing her closer. Her chin rested on his shoulder, his cheek against hers. "So you really don't think it's all my fault?" he asked softly.
Hermione pulled away from him, but not so far that his arms weren't still around her waist. "Oh Harry, it's no one's fault but his own that Voldemort returned, and that's because it was his decision to go to the Dark side in the first-you look at me when I'm talking, Harry James Potter, because this is important-It was his decision to go over to the Dark side in the first place. It's starting again, and I know you're scared because I am too, but it's not going to do either us or anyone else any good to sit around, making yourself miserable with guilt."
"Your logic amazes me sometimes," said Harry honestly.
"That's what I'm here for," said Hermione. Her tone was joking, but Harry could tell by the light flush of her cheeks that she valued his praise.
"What time is it?" asked Harry. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his arms were still around her, but he made no motion to shift from the position. He didn't want to.
"I think we have about twenty more minutes until we need to go down to the library for Professor Lupin's class," said Hermione. "I told we'd meet him down in the common room, though, for lunch."
"Oh," said Harry, releasing her rather reluctantly. She scooted away from him, gathering her Arithmancy book and shoving it into her book bag. It was lying on the floor, which meant that it must have slipped from her lap during the course of their conversation. Harry stood as well, taking a few quick strides across the room for his own book bag. He shot her a lopsided grin as he adjusted the strap across his shoulder. Once more, she grabbed his hand.
"You are all right, aren't you?"
Harry had almost seen it coming. "I'm fine," he said, repeating his proclamation of earlier. This time, although it wasn't completely the truth, it was much closer to it than he had been before, but he couldn't find it in him to lie to Hermione, and he began to ramble. "Well, you know, it's been interesting, to say the least. I'm worried that I'm going to keep seeing all his misdoings, and I feel like I should be preparing something kind to say to Justin the next time I see him. I really should be coming up with something that I can do to-"
Hermione's finger pressed against his lips, putting a stop to his stream of statements. She was looking up at him, brown eyes gazing into green. Hermione opened her mouth as if to speak but said nothing. Harry tilted his head forward, and he was kissing her.
If Harry had considered his thoughts to be jumbled earlier, they just became more tangled as he kissed Hermione. One part of him, the part he assumed had allowed his lips to land on those of his best friend as if it were the most natural thing in the world, felt completely at ease. Hadn't this happened before? That first part of him finally admitted to dreaming of a moment like this for the better part of the last year.
The other part of Harry, the part that was yet to have an effect his actions, was much more interested in the logical side of things. You're kissing Hermione, it reminded him. You're kissing your best friend. You're changing everything that's ever been between the two of you. If you don't stop what you're doing it's going to be too late. This voice was Harry's reminder that he had just broken every rule in the book of friendship and stepped over the line that he'd been so careful not to toe.
It was over, and that second part of Harry had been what made it stop. He really wasn't sure how many seconds had passed because his mind was still swimming. The first part of his mind, the one that had allowed him to loose himself in Hermione, was furiously chiding the second part for finding fault in something that felt so right.
"We're not due in the library for another fifteen minutes, but I'm sure Ron's wondering what's keeping us from the common room," said Hermione. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but other then that, there was no other indicator of the kiss. There was no awkwardness betrayed in her voice, and there was no regret. She sounded as sweet and kind and normal as she always did to Harry.
"We'd probably better head on down if we want any kind of lunch," said Harry, and he surprised himself. His words flowed as normally and familiarly as Hermione had. "Then again, knowing Ron and his appetite-"
"-We might already be too late," said Hermione, finishing his sentence word-for-word to his thoughts. She smiled at him, and he followed closely behind her as they headed in the direction of the common room.
And Harry had a bit of a realization as they crossed the threshold of his and Ron's dormitory. For that one moment, for the first time since Hagrid had shown up to retrieve him all those years ago, Harry had ceased to be famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. For that one moment, he'd been just like any other teenage boy, wizard or Muggle, with an opportunity to kiss the girl he fancied.
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